


Would That I

by Cowboy_Sneep_Dip



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Spoilers, Nightmares, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-25 03:23:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20369869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cowboy_Sneep_Dip/pseuds/Cowboy_Sneep_Dip
Summary: Ingrid has an nighttime encounter with the mysterious Adrestian heir.





	Would That I

The weather calls for snow. 

Ingrid exhales and her breath fogs in front of her face, crisp and white and cold, her lungs expelling air like some sort of frosty beast. Her boots crunch against the grass - not green anymore, not since ice had been forming at the corner of the windows in the cathedral, not since clouds rolled over Garreg Mach and settled over the mountains like a cool, grey blanket. She stops to sit on the steps outside the classrooms and rests her lance on her knees. Sweat evaporates on her brow, clinging her bangs to her forehead in the cool air.

Bath, homework, then bed. She glances at the sky. It’s not lightening yet, so she should at least be good for a few hours of sleep.

It had been Felix’s idea, she reflects, climbing the stairs to the bathhouse, using her lance like a walking stick to push herself up. He had wanted to spar, and things got out of hand, and...well, if she had won, she probably would have felt less compelled to keep training late into the night. 

She brushes her hair out of her face and steps through the door into the Blue Lions’ side of the baths. It’s an immediate change - the air is warm, pillowing steam, and the sweat that had dried on her brow from her cool walk is immediately replaced by condensation. It smells like salts and springwater, and as she unties her braided hair she hums something. Maybe it’s one of Annette’s silly songs, maybe it’s some hymn she had overheard at the chapel. She had never been much for religious songs. 

She washes her hair slowly and diligently, taking care to comb through split ends and brush out tangled knots. She had been meaning to cut it for some time, but her father had expressly forbidden it - A Lady must look refined and beautiful if she is to find a husband, after all.

She sighs and slides under the water, pretending she could lop it all off instead. He had been growing more insistent in his letters. Ever since the deal with that merchant fell through, he had been more and more hellbent on finding suitors for her. She just wanted to get her certifications first. She laves soapy water over her bare, chilly shoulders and tries to think about something else.

The walk back to the dorms is short but chilly, and she wishes she had brought a jacket. Their uniforms were nice in the warmer weather, but wind cut through the black fabric like a blade through flesh. She climbs the stairs to the second floor and slips into the hall. It’s quiet this late at night, dimly lit by torches that line the stone walls. The windows are tinged white with frost as she walks past, looking forward to sitting under a blanket at her desk and finishing her assignments. 

There’s a sound, so soft she almost thinks she misheard. And then, again.

She frowns.

She steps forward, chewing on her bottom lip, trying to place the sound. Like a wounded animal, almost. Soft whimpers.

“Hello?” she breathes quietly.

The voice hitches and hucks a gasp. 

She staggers forwards, listening intently as she passes a door. It’s coming from Edelgard’s room…

She knocks on the door. “Lady Edelgard? Are you alright?”

The sound stops and she holds her breath.

She wraps her hand around the doorknob and rattles it. “Lady Edelgard? Is that you? What’s wrong?” 

Her heart races. After all the incidents around the monastery, the last thing they needed was someone kidnapping - or doing worse - to the heir apparent. She rattles the doorknob. “Edelgard?”

The whimpering stops, trailed by a half-moaned voice.  _ F-father…  _ Ingrid doesn’t release her whiteknuckled grasp on the doorknob, and her eyes search the gap between the door and the floor, looking for signs of movement. 

The door clicks. 

She steps back, watching the handle turn. 

“Gods, Edelgard…” Ingrid breathes. 

Edelgard opens the door slowly, her eyes downcast and her motions sluggish. The opening door rattles against the lock chain and she reaches up to unhook it. 

“Edelgard…” Ingrid says again. “I…” she swallows. “I heard sounds, I...I thought you were being attacked.”

“I’m alright,” she says quietly. “Thank you, Ingrid.”

“Of course.” Ingrid watches her. 

She’s pale and her hands shake as she unlocks the door, sliding like the limbs of a ghost through the air. Her eyes are red-rimmed and wide, fearful even as they droop with exhaustion. She rubs her eyes with a gloved hand.

Ingrid furrows her brow. She had never seen Edelgard after lights out - and she suspected no one else had, either, save perhaps Hubert. Her nightclothes are...unusual to say the least. 

“Come in,” Edelgard says hoarsely, stepping away from the door and gesturing Ingrid inwards. 

Her window is open, letting a cool breeze in that ruffles the curtains and flickers the small bead of orange flame in a wire lamp resting on her desk. Ingrid gazes at the wick half-protruded from a pool of melted wax - it had been burning for some time. She folds her arms over her chest and shivers despite herself.

Edelgard limps back to her bed and sits carefully, looking less than half the mighty emperor-in-training Ingrid knew her to be. She rested clasped fists on her lap.

“I’m sorry,” Ingrid says again. “I didn’t-”

“It’s alright.” 

Ingrid watches her still her shaking hands in her lap. She’s dressed in a silk nightdress, edged with detailed, elegant lace that shimmers in the moonlight, raiment befitting an emperor. She shifts slightly, adjusting her silk shoulder-length white gloves that cover her skin. 

Ingrid licks her lips. “I can go.”

Edelgard shakes her head and pats the bed beside her. “Please...sit.” 

It’s hard not to feel nervous as she sits, like sitting slowly on a bed spread with delicate china figures, like the shift of mattress or bedframe will tip her to the center and shatter her. Ingrid curls her hands into a fist on her lap and stares at Edelgard’s pale, shimmering leggings. Edelgard’s breathing is slow, labored.

“Are you okay?” Ingrid asks softly. 

“It was just a dream.” 

Ingrid swallows and takes a chance to dance her fingertips forwards, laying her hand over Edelgard’s knee. “I understand. After…” She bites back her sentence. “I know what it’s like to have dreams like that.”

Edelgard nods and slides her own hand over Ingrid’s, brushing the knuckles with her fingers. The silk is smooth and cold. Ingrid curls her fingers inwards, lightly gripping her, and anchor to keep her pinned into the present. She did know what it was like to have nightmares - pain and loss and heartache relived night after night. She tries to transmit as much of that understanding as she can, but she only has one hand. 

Edelgard squeezes her hand lightly. “Thank you.”

“I…” Ingrid looks up and her breath falters. Above Edelgard’s neckline, the hem of her dress, she can see a pale white scar burrowing beneath her clothes. Something covered by her stiff, high uniform. “I don’t mean to intrude. I’m sorry.” She makes intimations of movement.

“Please,” Edelgard says, tightening her grip. Her cold silk fingertips are strong, almost frighteningly so. “Stay.” An edge of desperation in her voice.

“Lady Edelgard,” Ingrid exhales.

Edelgard withdraws her hand, curling it into a fist on her lap, buried against the folds of her nightdress. “Go, then.”

Ingrid stands up from the bed and shifts forward, heart pounding, tongue thick and swollen in her dry mouth. She stumbles for the door, past Edelgard’s desk neatly organized with papers cast orange in the glow of lamplight. She staggers out the door and shuts it firmly behind her, collapsing back against the door, fighting for breath. 

Behind her, she can hear motion. The creaking of a bed, the shifting of blankets, the whisper of wind against curtains. And in the hallway, all is silent again. 

**Author's Note:**

> "Mel you can't just rewrite a support with a different character" i Can and i Will


End file.
